


Pretend the Nightmares Aren't Real

by JustARandomFangirl711



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gwen Stacy is Dead, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Peter Parker/Gwen Stacy, Mentioned Dr. Curt Connors, Mentioned Flash Thompson, Mentioned Gwen Stacy, Mentioned Norman Osborn/Green Goblin, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, implied eating disorder, mentioned Harry Osborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustARandomFangirl711/pseuds/JustARandomFangirl711
Summary: She tells me that one day it’ll be easier to lift myself out of bed in the morning. That one day the nightmares won’t frequent my dreams every single night. One-shot.





	Pretend the Nightmares Aren't Real

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on ao3. I also have this story on Fanfiction.net as well as a some others, my username is CopyCat2002. This is a random one-shot that came to my head and it ended up quite depressing. I hope you like it.

There’s good days and there’s bad days. The nights, though, they’re always bad. 

 

The nightmares that constantly plagued me were filled with all of my mistakes. My _failures_. The deep crimson of my uncle’s blood covering my pale hands, the savage roars of the Lizard as he wreaked havoc upon the city, the _snap_ of Gwen Stacy’s head against the concrete floor, and the deranged laugh that bubbled up from Norman— no, the Green Goblin’s mouth.

 

The worst part? Every single one of those mistakes can be linked back to the one thing that he created to prevent them happening: Spiderman.

 

Those kinds of mistakes anyway. I didn’t like to think about Peter Parker’s.

 

Because Peter Parker is weak. Spiderman is strong.

 

Peter Parker is the one who influences Spiderman to make mistakes. 

 

Peter Parker couldn’t beat a common thief, but Spiderman could’ve. Peter Parker completed the serum that transformed Dr. Connors, but Spiderman was the one who defeated him. Peter Parker was the one that watched his loved one fall, the one who didn’t think of jumping after her to try to cushion her landing. Peter Parker didn’t cure Harry’s dad.

 

I wish that Peter Parker was the mask. That way, it would be a lot easier to stop being him. I’ve thought about running away, starting over. But I could never leave Aunt May. As much as I believe that I’m a burden to her, I know that she’d be devastated. I’m all she has left. I wish I wasn’t. I wish that I could see her scolding Uncle Ben with a smile in her voice as he nabbed a chocolate chip from the dough she was making with a mischievous grin on his face.

 

But I can’t. Because Peter Parker was powerless. Spiderman isn’t.

 

Sometimes the nightmare will be a dream. It’ll consist of the what-ifs that I hoped were true. Until I wake up in the morning and it is back to being a nightmare again. Those are the bad days. When I spend them feeling sorry for myself and thinking about Gwen and Uncle Ben. Or the days that I think about—

 

I don’t want to think about _that_.

 

_That_ is another one of Peter Parker’s mistakes. Things like _that_ don’t happen to Spiderman. They happen to _puny, poor, weak, powerless_ Peter Parker. Jeez, now I’m starting to sound like Flash. 

 

Flash is strong too. Spiderman could take him though. Peter Parker can’t.

 

As Peter Parker, I’m a nerd and a freak. Flash has no qualms with telling me that to my face as he shoves me against a locker. Sometimes in a locker. Depends on how he’s feeling that day I suppose. Gwen and Harry used to stand up for me, even Mary Jane at times. Now, nobody that cares is there to help me. No one wants to be friends with _Peter Parker_.

 

Aunt May is worried about me. This I know because I can see her studying me out of the corner of my eye and I can imagine that she’s asking herself whether I look like I need more sleep or more food. If I was being completely honest then the answer to both of those questions would be a solid _yes_. But I still won’t eat because I can’t keep anything down and I don’t want to sleep because I’m scared. I’m scared of my mistakes.

 

I’m scared that when I wake up I’ll have pretend that don’t remember the scent of blood. I’ll have to pretend that I don’t remember Dr. Connors. I’ll have to pretend that I don’t remember Gwen’s desperate, fearful gaze filled with hope as my line of web extended closer and closer towards her, but not close enough. I’ll have to pretend that the Green Goblin’s taunts don’t echo through my head when I think about her.

 

I’ll have to pretend that I’m not Spiderman. I hate pretending. It makes me feel dirty. Almost as dirty as—

 

_That_.

 

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I can’t get out of bed. Not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I’m so exhausted that it feels like someone’s dropped a building on me again and the thought of getting up to be _Peter Parker_ is even more exhausting. On those unfortunate mornings, Aunt May will come into my room to tell me that I’m going to be late school or for work at the Daily Bugle. She’ll see the look in my eyes as I stare blankly at the ceiling because I don’t even have enough energy to turn my head to look back at her. With her all-knowing Aunt ways, she’ll know that I’m not okay. She thinks she knows what I’m thinking about and she’s partially right but she doesn’t know all of it. 

 

I hide so much from her that I know I don’t deserve her care, but I let myself be selfish on those days. Those days where I have to pretend that my problems don’t have to do with thugs and super villains.

 

She tells me that one day it’ll be easier to lift myself out of bed in the morning. That one day the nightmares won’t frequent my dreams every single night.

 

Later, when I’m out patrolling as Spiderman, I think about what she said. Maybe it will get easier, but it will never stop being hard. Less nightmares doesn’t mean no nightmares and I’ll always be lying about what they were about.

 

And as Spiderman, I also realize that I can’t escape the lies. The pretending. I have to pretend that I’m not Peter Parker. I have to pretend that I’m not weak and that I don’t know the feeling of the cold locker door digging into my back. I have to pretend that I don’t remember the feeling of a previously trusted hand on the inside of my thigh.

 

There’s good days and there’s bad days. I don’t think there will be good days anytime soon, but with time maybe some of my scars will fade.


End file.
